Of Randomness and Realizations
by ChocolateIsMyDrug
Summary: From K3G, the part where Rahul and Anjali go the the fair. WARNING: Extremely random. Read at your own risk. But I'd recommend reading it, though. And reviewing afterwards is also good.


**Of Randomness and Realizations**

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**Author's Note: **This fic is from _Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham_, otherwise known as K3G. This is basically just the part before Rahul and Rohan come to apologize to Pooja and it goes up to just before the song, _Suraj Hua Maddham_.

It turned out being a lot longer than I thought it would originally be and I did the dialogue from memory (our K3G DVD has been borrowed by a friend), adding a few bits here and there when I felt like it, so don't be too harsh.

And I didn't really go into detail about those random poems Anjali comes up with or the songs. The poems aren't there because they sound better in Hindi and the songs because, well, obviously, you can't hear the tune through writing and also, it's hard to describe every single dance move that makes the song so good.

And I cut out – _sob_ – Johnny Lever. I swear, I tried writing him in, but it just wasn't funny.

And I'll try and translate the whole _aap_ thing, but it's kind of hard when it's just 'you' in English. Some things just don't work.

But still. Enjoy.

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She was angry. And for Anjali, angry equalled not thinking rationally. And not thinking rationally meant that she laid the blame on everyone else. And everyone else happened to be a certain Mr. Rahul-Ooohh-I'm-a-Millionaire-So-I-Think-I'm-All-That-Raichand and his – ahem, _chubby_ little brother.

Yes. Just look at that. Terrible. Anjali was not normally size-ist or any other -ist, really. It was just this _stupid_ situation that had gotten her into this rage in which she persecuted poor fat people. And Rahul Raichand. Who wasn't fat. But still.

Though Anjali normally was not really a fan of anything foreign – India all the way! (did that make her racist?) – she loved to read anything. And more than anything, she loved a good book. Well, she loved her family and the sweets she made quite a bit more than a good book, but you get the point.

Anyway, Anjali sort of fashioned herself as a modern-day Elizabeth Bennet – sharp, smart, perceptive, intelligent, smart, did she mention smart? and… well… smart. And then Mr Rahul-OIAMSITIAT-Raichand (she couldn't be bothered saying 'Ooohh-I'm-a-Millionaire-So-I-Think-I'm-All-That') fell rudely into her life. And became like a modern-day Mr Darcy (like he was at the start of the book, anyway).

Well, not really. No way was she going to fall in love with him in the end like Elizabeth did. She couldn't now. Or else knowing him, he would rub it in her face for the rest of her natural life.

She remembered how she had thought he was Rukhsar's fiancé. And had called him cute, something she would probably never live down. Possibly the most embarrassing moment of her life. Or maybe that pot – no, _vase_-breaking incident was the worst. Or the part where she had gone to apologize for breaking the vase and had broken another one. Or that time when Mr. Rahul Raichand had been making fun of her behind his father's back – literally – the whole time she'd been trying to apologize. And she had yelled at him to shut up. And his dad had thought she had told him to shut up. And _then _she had broken another vase.

Well, wasn't it interesting, that all of her most embarrassing moments involved the aforementioned Mr. Rahul Raichand?

Digressions, digressions. Anyway, Anjali was angry. She was angry because that aforementioned chubby little brother of Mr. Rahul Raichand (how did he _always_ manage to turn up in _every single train of thought?_) had hurt her little sister who was not chubby in the least (not that that had anything do to with anything, but still, just clarifying).

'What was the need for her to enter that school?' asked her father, unexpectedly (to Anjali, anyway) taking the side of the little brother of the same Mr. Rahul Raichand who Anjali had sworn not to mention again, in her thoughts, or otherwise.

She turned to her father, her eyes wide. 'What wrong did she do in entering the school?' she demanded. 'It's not like she murdered someone!'

Her father opened his mouth to say something, possibly to protest, but she cut across him. 'That boy hurt my little sister's feelings! If I ever see that Laddoo again, I'll deal with him _and _his older brother. Unless I hang them upside down in the village square, I won't call myself your daughter!'

'Anjali –' her father tried again, gesturing to the door.

'You don't know about them, Bauji!' she continued to rave, backing towards the door. 'Those who are rich in money but poor at heart can _never_ find a place near the Lord –'

It was then that she bumped into something extremely solid.

No, it was not the _wall._

It was actually Mr. Rahul-Ooohh-I'm-a-Millionaire-So-I-Think-I'm-All-That-Raichand. Speak of the devil.

And it turned out he had heard almost everything she had said.

'That's a good line,' he said by way of greeting. 'Did you write it yourself?'

'_Yes,_' she snarled, caused both of them to cower. Rahul pulled his younger brother in front of him.

Anjali's father tried to stop the situation before she made it into an all-out cat-fight. 'Anjali, they're coming to our house for the first time,' he said, smiling at them. 'Get them something to eat, will you?'

She sent them a withering look. 'I'm sure they've eaten before coming,' she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, 'haven't you seen the size?'

She glared at the fat boy, and her comment could have been construed as mean if her glare hadn't been so comic – one eye wider than the other, nose wrinkled, the works.

Rahul snapped into action. 'Actually, we have eaten,' he said hastily. 'Don't bother yourself, sir,' he called after Anjali's dad (who was already out gone to buy something for them to eat). He turned to Anjali, 'And you also… don't bother,' he finished lamely as he saw that she was certainly not going to get them food anyway.

He bent down to his brother. 'What's the name?' he asked, looking curiously at Anjali's little sister.

'Rohan,' said the boy in a 'duh' voice.

'Not _yours,_ hers!'

'Oh! Pooja,' he said.

'You really are a laddoo,' Rahul commented. 'Come on!'

Pooja was staring at the floor, uncomfortable with the situation, partly because it was her fault in the first place.

'Hello, Pooja,' Rahul said, his hands on his knees so that he could look her in the eye. 'What pretty eyes!'

That got him a small smile.

He turned to Rohan. 'Look,' he said sternly, 'you must never hurt the feelings of a young girl.' He smiled at Pooja. 'Especially when she's so beautiful.'

'Say sorry,' he urged his brother, who was looking at his shoes, looking sulky and reluctant to apologize. 'Besides,' he said, sneaking a glance at Anjali, 'by asking for forgiveness, nobody becomes any smaller. And that the person who forgives has a very big heart.'

Anjali's head snapped up. That was _her _line! How could he steal _her line?_

And he even had the nerve to look at her and go, 'Isn't that right?' in a jovial sort of way. She just glared back.

But her line seemed to be the push to make Rohan apologize, since he said quietly, 'I'm sorry, Pooja. Friends?'

She gave him a small smile and they shook hands. Before she knew what happened, he kissed her on the cheek and ran away, her chasing after.

Anjali's eyes were as wide as peacock's eggs as she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Something very solid bumped into her shoulder.

And once again, no, it was not the wall.

As it turned out, it was – once again – Mr. Rahul Raichand. He was smirking at the expression on her face.

She folded her arms huffily.

'So…' he said.

She looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

'If those two can become friends,' he said, 'then why can't we?'

'Friends?' she said incredulously.

He nodded, grinning. 'What's the matter? I just want to be friends with you. Do you have any problems with that? Friends?' He held out his hand.

She looked from his hand to his grin, hesitating.

'Go on,' he said with a laugh, 'just do it.'

Anjali really needed to chop off her hand. It seemed to have developed a life of its own. And while she was at it, she might as well hack off her mouth, since for some reason, it smiled and said, 'Sure. Friends.'

And maybe she should do something to her cheek as well, so it wouldn't feel like it had been plugged into an electrical socket when Rahul had merely touched his lips to it.

-----

Really, that was when she could pinpoint the beginning of this all _paagalpan_. Because that was exactly what this was. Madness.

As the days passed, she was starting to find that she had more in common with one Elizabeth Bennet than she had originally thought. Much more in common. And it all came in the form of one Mr. Darcy. Or in her case, Mr. Raichand.

No, _not_ the fifty-year-old one. The one who was previously known as Mr. Rahul-Ooohh-I'm-a-Millionaire-So-I-Think-I'm-All-That-Raichand who from now would be known simply as Rahul, since her traitorous mind refused to refer to him as anything else.

The morning after that disastrous – in her eyes anyway – _friends_ episode, Anjali and Rukhsar were walking back to the sweet shop from the temple.

'I'm telling you, Rukhsar, I'm telling you,' she said, her eyes narrowed, 'there's something fishy going on.'

Rukhsar breathed in sharply and looked at her. 'Anjali, do you think he's –'

Anjali's head snapped around so fast her neck cricked. 'What?' she hissed urgently.

'Do you think maybe he's –'

'Yes, even _I_ think so!' she muttered excitedly as the perceptive, Elizabeth Bennet-worthy thought occurred to her.

'So you think I'm right?' asked Rukhsar.

'You've hit the nail right on the head, Rukhsar,' she replied, her eyes narrowed. 'He wants to take my shop away from me!'

Rukhsar made an impatient noise as she rolled her eyes. '_No_, Anjali, I'm just saying,' she said slowly, so that it would sink in, '_maybe_ he's in _love _–'

'_Love?'_ Anjali interrupted incredulously. 'Out of all the girls in Delhi, you think _he'll _be in _love_ with _me?'_ She mock-pouted. 'Nobody loves me here.' Then she turned her incredulous face to Rukhsar. 'So why on earth would Yashvardhan Raichand's son be in love with _me?'_

Rukhsar did not look convinced. 'Yes, I know, but I'm telling you, Anjali, have you seen the way he looks at you?'

Anjali, who had not seen Rahul look at her in any particularly special way, snorted. 'Whatever.'

As soon as they reached the shop, the phone started ringing.

Anjali picked it up and said in one breath, 'Hello, Bharat Sweetmeats, ready for any occasion, weddings and engagements included –'

A male voice that she couldn't quite place cut through her. 'Both will happen soon enough,' the voice said, 'so what's the hurry?'

Her eyes narrowed. She did not appreciate prank calls. 'Who's this?'

'It's me,' replied the voice.

'Who's me?' she asked suspiciously.

There was a mock-impatient noise on the other end. 'What do you mean, who? It's me, your new friend!'

Comprehension dawned and she made _the sign_ to Rukhsar, who immediately came over and put the phone on speaker.

'I was just wondering,' said Rahul, 'I'm going to the fair this afternoon and I was wondering if you would like to join me.'

Rukhsar looked at Anjali and waggled her eyebrows. Anjali rolled her eyes.

'Which fair?' she asked.

'The Chandni Chowk one, which else?'

'_This_ fair?' she asked with a touch of surprise. 'Don't you think its importance would overflow if you were to come?' Her voice was positively dripping with sarcasm.

Perhaps he didn't notice, or maybe he was making fun of her, for he said, sighing, 'Oh, my importance would increase tenfold if you would join me.'

'Sure,' she said with a glare at Rukhsar who was – very immaturely – mouthing something like, _Rahul and Anjali, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I – _well, you get the point.

'Sounds good,' she said into the speaker. If it was the last thing she did, she would prove that Rahul was not _in love_ with her or anything – she would prove that all he was after was her shop.

'So, I'll see you there at four? Cool. Bye!'

They both hung up and wondered how much her Aunt would miss Rukhsar if she killed her.

-----

This was awkward.

For about ten minutes, all they had said was 'hi', 'you look nice' (that had been Rahul), 'um…thanks' (by Anjali, accompanied by a faint blush) and after that, silence had fallen. For the remaining nine minutes.

They had been walking around, not really doing anything.

Anjali tried to do something that would perhaps make this situation less awkward.

She tried staring at the ground.

It didn't work.

She tried staring at him.

Uh-oh, more awkwardness. She quickly looked away.

She tried humming an old film song under her breath.

It didn't really alleviate the awkwardness, but at least Rahul said something. Though him saying 'You sing very well' just served to make her feel more awkward.

She tried to change the subject. Anjali could sometimes be very good at changing the subject. She changed it so deftly and carefully that you didn't even realize that she had avoided a question and you just blabbered on about some random thing.

_Sometimes _being the key word. Other times, like today, obviously, _she _was the one doing the random blabbering.

'Do you always wear clothes like these?' she asked suddenly, pointing to his suit. It had just occurred to her. It was strange. Every time she'd seen him, he'd been in a blazer and fancy clothes. He seemed so comfortable in a suit that it seemed almost like he slept in one.

'Well,' he said, a little taken aback at the subject change, 'yes.' Then he recovered. 'When I wear clothes, that is.' He grinned, looking at her out the corner of his eye. 'Otherwise, most of the time, I don't wear anything –'

'No,' she said hurriedly, before he could add more imagery. 'I was just asking.' So much for changing the subject. It was not up to her usual standard at all. It was far too out of the blue.

It seemed Rahul needed some work in the area of subject changing as well, since just then he randomly said, 'By the way, your hair looks nice when you leave it out.'

Anjali was wondering how the hell this was 'by the way' when it was out of the blue. Then she realized that his face hadn't been that close before…

Time for more random subject changing. 'Isn't it interesting how both of our fathers were born on the exact same day?' Inwardly, she kicked herself. That was just a bit _too_ random. While she was going, maybe she should say, 'Isn't it interesting how both of our faces are the exact same shade of red?'

She bunched her hair together with one hand, but then dropped it when Rahul said, 'Leave it. It looks nice.'

Face alert.

_Face alert!_

Not that he had garlic-breath or anything, he was just close, _far _too close. What was she supposed to _do _in this situation?

Perhaps scream, 'AHHH, FACE!' and run?

Something told her this was _not _was she was supposed to do.

So she relied on her old pal, random subject changing.

'Bangles?' she said, hurrying to the bangle stall.

Weirdness abound. If she hummed a song about green bangles, then why would he sing some old love song?

Random subject change or not, it still made her just a _bit_ uncomfortable. And it linked with her first theory. What else could explain the 'your hair looks nice' thing? That wasn't something you just _said_ to practically a total stranger.

And what was up with the face thing?

'You see –' she stopped. 'Sorry, I mean, you see, _sir _–' She twisted the green bangles in her hands.

'Don't call me 'sir',' he said, 'it would make me feel closer to you.'

'Closer?' she muttered to herself. Oh, it was all there. The puzzle pieces all fit. This could not go further.

'Look, Mr. Raichand, I can't give you what you want.' There. She had given it to him straight. That was the bottom line, the real deal.

He looked scandalised. 'Why not?' he whined.

She looked at him, incredulous. 'I just can't give it to you – besides, Bauji wouldn't allow it!'

He tried to look reassuring. 'Don't worry,' he said, 'I'll ask for it from him. I'll ask –'

Anjali bounced in frustration and the green bangles clinked together. _Why _didn't he get it? 'Why on _earth_ would Bauji give you our shop?'

'But what's the big –' He looked at her in what seemed to be genuine bewilderment. 'Wait, what shop?'

She rolled her eyes in impatience. 'Our sweet shop, of course!'

'What shop are you talking about?' So now he was trying to play innocent, was he?

'I was tolerating this. It was even okay with friendship. But _what _is all this – this… _closeness_ about? I mean, there's a limit to friendship, isn't there? And now what with all the –'

'Be quiet,' he said roughly, grabbing her wrist. 'Quiet.' He slowly prised the green bangles out of her grasp and started to put them on her hand.

'There are many bonds other than friendship,' he said quietly.

What was she supposed to do in _this_ new situation?

Somehow, anything that involved screaming or running seemed impossible because her feet refused to move and she was quite sure that if she tried to talk her voice would not work.

Rahul pushing the bangles further down her hand caught her attention again. 'I hope it's not hurting you,' he said softly as it went over a knuckle.

Her mouth seemed too dry for her to say anything, but she managed to shake her head faintly.

'There are bonds that have no limits, bonds that we don't understand.' Had his face been _that _close before? 'Bonds that we don't _need_ to understand…'

Her heartbeat seemed deafening to her own ears and she was sure Rahul would hear it too, it seemed so loud. She was sure she was flushing as well, but she couldn't help it.

'I hope it's not hurting you,' he said softly, fitting her thumb into the bangles.

All she could do was shake her head. She was even more incapable of speaking than before because right now there was a _major_ Face Alert happening.

A siren in her head was going crazy with the Face Alert warnings. But the emergency forces seemed to have taken a vacation to Italy along with her senses.

'These are the bonds that bind two hearts together,' said Rahul, almost in a whisper. 'Bonds of passion, bonds of… of love –'

She gasped. Maybe it was because of what he had said, maybe it was the proximity of his face or maybe it was the fact that the bangles had just gone over her thumb knuckle in a rather painful way.

'Did it hurt you?' he asked, already knowing the answer before she nodded faintly.

At this point, their faces were inches away.

Then the inch_es_ became an inch as he leaned in and whispered, 'Me too.'

Suddenly, her body galvanized into action. She still felt numb, but not so numb that she couldn't turn away.

She started to walk, but a hand caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back into something very solid.

Needless to say, it was not a wall _this _time, either.

'And one more thing,' he said, into her ear. 'I'm definitely going to take over your sweet shop.'

Then she felt something touch her temple lightly. She assumed it was his hand, but then her reasoning caught up with her. One of his hands was on her back and the other was holding her wrist.

There was only one other thing it could be. Her face – a bit belatedly, perhaps – felt like it had been plugged into a wall socket again.

Then he let go of her wrist.

She glanced back once before she ran.

He grinned.

She didn't notice the sign on her back that read 'I love Rahul Raichand' until she got home.

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**Author's Note 2:** Like it? Hate it? Let me know by reviewing! If you notice any mistakes – apart from slight dialogue changes and lack of Anjali-poems – please tell me so I can fix them.

Yeah. That said, hope you liked it!

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